The clean, modern clinic is pretty quiet at the moment. Not a lot of the hustle and bustle one would see during sick call and normal business hours. As it's a bit later the Naval personnel aboard the ship have either been treated already or are waiting until the morning to be seen. The same might not be said for FBC agents and soldiers whose jobs can be much more erratic. Bob Delgado, FBC medic, is holding down the fort at the moment. He's sitting on his ass at a desk at the front of the clinic wearing his fatigue pants and a matching scrub top. There's a stethescope dangling from around his neck and trauma shears and tape hanging out from below his shirt. A couple of sailors, corpsmen, are around as well, working on paperwork on their computers in the back.

It was rather late, wasn't it? What a terrible night to have been bitten...Caldwell walks in and grunts, having been scraped up pretty badly by numerous undead in the search for Chris Redfield. He gives a wave to Bobbo the clown and smiles "Hey there, need a bit of medical treatment if you don't mind." he pops a squat on one of the medical examining tables and awaits further orders from Dr. Delgado, PhD.

Perhaps now might not have been the best time for Rick to be up and about, but here he was. Lord knows he wasn't going to sleep during the normal times, even if he did have the flu. He was, of course, wearing a mask over his face, gloves on his hands, labcoat freshly laundered, and enough Dayquil to kill something. Still, the red eyes are certainly appearant, as is the fact he's running on caffinee and acetominphin at the moment.

BUt there was someone who got actual contact with the undead, and he wanted to be there in case something happened. Walking in, nodding over to the people there. "Caldwell. I heard something happened in Paris. You get a screening done?" He says, calmly, as if the answer might mean the difference between drinking at a bar later or getting a rotting corpse shot in the head.

A look to Bob, and a wave. "You're the new medic, right? Or at least I haven't met you. Sorry if I don't shake your hand. Getting over something that must be going around."

"I got you, brother," Bob says to Caldwell as he gets up off of his ass and makes his way over to the exam table, looking over the patient on the way. As he closes in on him he asks, plopping down on a stool next to a laptop, "What can I do for you?" The doctor coming in has Bob slowing his roll to let the other guy speak. Instead, he gets ready to start taking notes electronically for the man in charge. When he's addressed, though, he returns the wave, "Bob Delgado, sir. Nice to meet you." All polite and stuff. "Don't worry about it. I'll take a look at you when we wrap up here."

Caldwell nods to Stadler "Yeah, got the screening done earlier, I should be fine. Just got the crap beat out of me by the living dead searching for Redfield. We found him at least, beat up but fine." he says, grunting and relaxing on the medical bed. "Just need some band-aids and kisses for my booboos, you get me?"

"That f--king dog," Chase growls to himself, holding his arm, as he walks into the room. "I'm gonna kill him." He's done a fair/middling job patching himself up, but clearly needs a legit medic's touch. "Yo, Sarge." He nods to Bob. "Room for one more?" He's decked out in his usual civvies -- boots, denims, khaki shirt, and a blue monogrammed FBC windbreaker. The chain for his dog-tags can be seen around his neck.

"Glad to have you aboard, Delgado. We need as many qualified professionals as we can get. Medical situation where we're going is probably going to get catatrophic. Can I see your sidearm? Just put it on the desk." He says, before he gives a nod to Caldwell, moving to flip through some of the document that had been delivered. "Well, there's the clearance. Glad we don't have to put on in your head, Caldwell. Got off that boat, so I don't think dying in some stone hell underneath Paris is the right end for you. Let's take a look..." He says, moving to look over Caldwell. A bit of a nod to Bob. "Multiple contusionsover the chest and arms... defensive wounds, I'm guessing? They certainly hit hard. Some abrasions... Hmm. A lot of damage, but nothing... excessive. Not much we can do here that rest and some basic bandages won't." He says, pointing to one of the cabinents. "Get me a FAS and one of those herb mixtures?" He says over to Bob.

Chase gets another greeting. "Infected dog? Need to go through screening, if so. If not, sure, we can handle this too. What sore of injury?"

When the next guy comes on in Bob turns and takes a look over at him, nodding, "Yeah, man." He motions from his stool at the next exam table over and says, "You go have yourself a seat." And then he's typing furiously to keep up with Stadler, taking a moment to safely unholster, unload and double check the chamber on his weapon before setting it down on the desk with the slide locked to the rear, "I'm looking forward to getting into the field with you guys, sir. I've been training FBC medics until I was shipped over here this week." There's another flurry of typing to take notes for the man and then Bob's out of his seat, moving over to the indicated cabinet to grab the medical supplies. In no time he's back by the doctor, putting the stuff on a tray next to him. "You want to hit him with some cefotetan, too, sir?"

"Yeah, infected with the 'Big Dumb Mutt' virus." Chase responds, rolling his eyes and offering a subdued grin. His tone is /dripping/ with playful antagonism and sarcasm, in spite of the wicked injury. "Honestly, I'd crack it myself, but figured our resident Knife and Fork School graduate could do with some time not sitting around waiting for people to fall and get boo-boos." He does his best to hold his arm still.

Caldwell gives a brief wave to Chase "I got a puppy too, he's awesome!" he smiles and nods to Stadler and Delgado "Glad to not be dying, sir. Nice to meet you as well, Bob." he says, awaiting his treatment "The fields really dangerous, but totally worth it to be helping out innocents. Glad to hear you're experienced!" he blinks and tilts his head at the word 'cefotetan' "What's that? I kind of don't want to be hit by anything right now..."

"Easy, Caldwell. Nothing to be afraid of here. Cefotetan's a broad spectrum antibiotic. Which..." He says pausing for a moment. "I'd feel better if they were normal scratches, not possibly infectious. I know what the documents say, but I'm a bit concerned about what the damned virus will do. Still... the devil we know is pretty bad, indeed." He says, moving to grab the First Aid Spray, and giving a good coating over each wounds. "Write up a supply. Let's try to be cautious for the moment. I don't doubt it'll work, but we can move to ceftriaxone if things get bad." He notes, before moving over to Chas... and wincing. "Goddamn it, and I don't think you were even in Paris. When the hell did this happen?" He says, moving to gently palpate the arm over the bruises. "Fracture of the humerus, about... midway to the shoulder. This is going to be a bit more difficult. We'll have to see about writting up a cast, and getting an x-ray done. Despite where we are, I'd rather have it done at a hospital ground side. Suppose we could head to Ramstien." He says.

Bob gets a approving nod as he sees the man putting his gun down. "Test. Wanted to make sure you were carrying one in a medical facility. It seems you've read the right material. Keep it on you."

"I'm not gonna lose my shooting arm, am I, boss? I kinda like shooting with this hand." Chase shoots a glance to Rick, and then to Bob; wincing as his arm is touched, and muttering a handful of oaths in various languages in response. Pashto pops up frequently. He raises an eyebrow. "Ramstein? As in Germany? Hell yes. Beer me." He allows himself a grin through the pain. Really, it wouldn't be THAT much of an inconvenience to switch shooting hands; he's trained both left and right, though he favors the right, naturally.

"Nice to meet you, Caldwell," Bob says to the man with a quick grin as he bustles about, moving with a purpose and grabbing and going to keep things running smoothly. It's clear he's spent a lot of time in similar circumstances based on how he can keep up a conversation while he works, "I've been deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan a few times, but BOWs and shit are all new to me." He looks over at Chase and returns the joke with one of his own, "I was just going to have the squid x-ray tech do your x-rays and cast you up here. We're good to go if you want to be saved the trip." Then he's back to grabbing stuff to prepare an injection for Caldwell and speaking to Stadler, "Yes, sir. Always gotta minimize risk if we can." Going back for his weapon Bob quickly and smoothly reloads it, decocks the weapon and holsters it, then pulls on exam gloves and starts drawing up an injection.

"Alright, Major. If you say so..." he says, moving his arm so that they have a clear POV of his veins. Yum..veiny. "Nice to meet you too, Bob! Bobberino, bobbinski, Bob The Builder, even!" he waits patiently for his injection to be put in his arm and speaks again "Fighting BOWs is a lot like riding a bike, you never forget! Cause if you forget how to fight a BOW you probably die."

"I do say so. But I'd like to remind you all that I'm a microbiologist. I'm rather glad we have someone here dedicated to the medical bay, because one of these days I'm going to screw up and inject one of you with ebola and then decide to watch what happens." He notes, before nodding to Bob. "And you've got more than me. Only been to Iraq once, and that was enough. This is a... bit of a odd move for me. Tell you more about it sometime. For now, if you think we can trust a few corpsman and SBAs, be my guest. Set him up for it. I'd rather keep our forces central, in any case. I'll sign off on it." He says, before moving his slevve over a masked face, giving a muffled sneeze. "Goddamn it. I need to dose up again in an hour. SImply going to kill my liver if this keeps on."

Chase gets another dismissive wave. "Not going to cut off your arm, and it looks like we're not going to Germany. Yet. Suppose we're all too young to remember REFORGER." He says. "God, I'm out of it."

"If we're talking war stories, I went in with the guys during the 'stan run back in '01, stayed four years, and came home. Most of my time was spent tucked away on hillsides, eyeballing convoys from so far out." Chase makes a show of adjusting the scope on a rifle, and then firing off a shot, while trying to move as little as possible. "Bam. Threat eliminated."

After carefully wiping the site clean Bob smoothly and almost painlessly gives Caldwell his injection, "There you go, man." As he disposes of the needle and syringe in the sharps container he chuckles a bit at Caldwell's words, "I'll take that as gospel. Going to do my best to make sure none of us get dead any time soon." At Stadler's comments Bob nods a couple of times, "I was in third ranger battallion so I got bounced overseas a lot." He bounces back to his computer to start typing stuff up, entering orders and notes into the system. "I was in Kandahar in '01 for a while," He says to Chase with a solid looking nod. After a moment of typing he says, "Alright. I got the notes in Caldwell." He looks over at Chase, "Got yours typed up but I need your name so I can order your x-rays and get you put in a cast."

William hisses and grunts as his arm is injected with the substance. "It's words to live by!" he responds, smiling at Bob The Fixer again "I used to be in STARS, that was fun..until the city got destroyed." he looks down at Bob "So i'm good to go? Nothing else needs to be done?"

"I'm surrounded by real soldiers." Rick says, shaking his head. "Not that I'm complaining. I need people to pull my ass out of the fire more often than not. Still feeling the pain from this goddamn arm that got shot up in that last little raid. Not to mention... everything else." He says, acting a little bit vague. "And a /Ranger/. I really have to read your file." He notes, pointing at himself. "You're looking at a /very/ good Unit Supply Specialist. Army Reserves. Was in Desert Shield, in 1991. Colorado National Guard, when I did a short tour in 2003. And since I said 'Colorado National Guard', I think you might be able to guess why I'm at a place right here. Caldwell knows. Still, that's enough of that." He says, before looking over to Bob. "And I don't suppose you'd write up some anti-virals, there? THe weak stuff; this Flu is bad, but it's a Flu."

"Chase Dalton, 01-18-82. Massachussetts native. Call me a 'good ol' boy' if you want. I can take it." Chase responds, training his vision on Bob. "Gee, boss-man.. gonna shoot me up with X-rays, make me glow like a night-light." He chuckles to himself, and grins.

"You're ready to rock, my man. I'll have to get you to tell me about Raccoon some time, see if I can't help develop some TTPs based on what you went through," Bob says with William with a deep nod. "Just keep it clean and come back in tomorrow to get it looked at. Or find me and I'll take a look, okay?" Then he's looking over at the boss man, giving him a nod, "I bet we could trade a few stories some time, sir." Then he hops back to the computer to start plugging in more information. "I got you, sir. I'm going to have you lay down in one of the beds in back, put a drip in you for a couple liters and the meds and start cycling you between motrin and tylenol to make sure you don't have a fever." Then it's back on to Chase, "Good to meet you, Dalton." Bob's back at the computer to type up a bunch of crap. He calls out to one of the sailors in back, "Schmidt. I need you to wake up an x-ray guy and get the doc on duty. I put the order in the system so all you have to do is get the man to sign off on it." The sailor responds with an affirmative and gets going on his side while Bob looks back towards Chase, "Alright. Dudes'll have you irradiated in no time."

Stadler gives a bit of a shake of his head. "I... try to keep them from being stories, too much. Lessons, certainly, they have to be lessons. But that place... Not a lot that was good happened there." He shakes his head a bit, and moves to one of the beds in the back. "I get a bit maudlin when I'm less than full strength. Just bring me a laptop or some paperwork; I can't afford to waste the time sleeping this early." He says, moving to pop up on the bed. "And none of you grunts better be gold bricking because you're a bit beat up!"

Once the doctor's where Bob told him to be the medic goes to work, "That's a good way to look at it, sir. I usually just talk a bunch when I get shit faced and worry about lessons and crap later on." He's quite efficient about getting an IV in Stadler and pumping the anti-virals into it. Then he's on to grabbing some motrin and tylenol for the man, along with a bottle of water to wash it down. "Here you go. Once I've plugged in the rest of my notes I'll give you my laptop so you can do your thing." And then he's off to do what he just said he'd be doing.